


A Fancy

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Smut, there is no plot here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Now, tell me,” he said, “why should I put on that hot uniform that I’ve not worn in nearly two years, just because you had a thought?”</em><br/>  <em>“More of a fancy,” Demelza confessed.</em></p><p>Or: Demelza discovers Ross's old army uniform in a chest in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by a single gif of Ross in his uniform. Which led to a train of thought wherein Demelza really ought to have a chance to _see_ Ross in his uniform. It’s all rainpuddle13’s fault. Though she also gets many thanks, along with mmmuses, for feedback and beta-reading.

“I was goin’ through those chests in the library today,” Demelza said idly. “You said as how I could.” 

It was late evening; the last glimmers of the summer sun had faded away, and their bedroom was lit by soft candlelight. Ross was sprawled before the empty fireplace on a low seat, his legs stretched out, his head tilted back and eyes closed. He had stripped to shirt and breeches, but no further. It had been a hot day, working to bring in the barley from the east field, and though it had cooled a little now that the sun had set, he must be tired. Too tired, perhaps, for what she had in mind. 

“Mm,” he hummed, without opening his eyes. “Yes. Take anything you like. I told you that.”

Demelza peeled off her stockings and wrinkled her nose. It had been too hot; they wouldn’t do for another day. She crumpled them into a ball and threw them at the basket that sat waiting for dirty clothing. Too hot for stockings at all, but she was supposed to be a lady now, and ladies wore stockings, no matter how hot it was. 

“I found some yellow cloth,” she told him. “Prudie ‘n me’ll make a dress out of it.” Ross hummed again. “I found some other things, too,” Demelza added. She rose from the bed and went to the wardrobe, where she’d put the clothes she’d discovered in one of the chests. Ross still had his eyes shut; Demelza took the tricorn hat and set it on his head. Ross opened his eyes, blinked lazily at her, and then lifted a hand to see what she’d put on him.

“I’d almost forgotten this was in there,” he remarked, mouth curling in a slow smile. “You didn’t bring the whole uniform up, did you?”

“Maybe,” Demelza said, meeting his smile with her own. Ross dropped the hat and ran his fingers up her thigh, under the hem of the shirt she wore as a nightgown. His hand came to rest on her hip, and Demelza swayed into him a little. They had been married for two months and Demelza thought she would never, _ever_ be used to the way he reached out to touch her. So casual and yet anything _but_ casual. “I thought,” she murmured huskily, “that maybe you’d wear it.”

“Wear it?” Ross didn’t seem to have grasped her meaning; he frowned up at her, quizzical. “What on earth for?”

Demelza wanted to retreat away, abashed both at her suggestion and his misunderstanding it. She could feel her cheeks flushing. “It was just a thought,” she muttered, and tried to step away from him. But Ross’s other hand caught her wrist, faster than she could escape from him, and in a moment he had tumbled her down into his lap. Demelza couldn’t help laughing at that, but then he pinched her behind, and she squealed. “ _Ross_!” she protested, wriggling a little. 

“Sit still, woman,” he commanded, and pinched her again. She couldn’t help another squeal, but she obeyed him, and after a moment she relaxed against him, head tucked against his shoulder and his arm around her waist. “Now, tell me,” he said, “why should I put on that hot uniform that I’ve not worn in nearly two years, just because you had a thought?”

“More of a fancy,” Demelza confessed. She felt, more than heard, the chuckle that he tried to suppress. She felt it deep in his chest. Only a small sound escaped his mouth. Demelza hid her face in his neck and inhaled the scent of him. She had so rarely felt able to initiate things between them, in the two months since he had married her. She responded gladly to him, to anything he suggested or tried – his hands so sure, his mouth so clever, that sometimes she felt as though she would burn up from it all – and she did so with a full enthusiasm that she was almost sure he appreciated, but rarely had she instigated their marital relations. Not after that first time, that first night, when she had gone to him wearing that blue dress.

“I see,” Ross said. There was a warm note to his voice now that did much to erase her slight embarrassment. He turned his head towards her, nudging her away from her hiding place, and he kissed her. Gentle, a press of mouth to mouth, but then his tongue slipped out and swiped across her lower lip, as if he could not help himself. As if he wanted to taste her, to see if she had changed since the last time he had kissed her – just this morning, their last kiss. Demelza closed her eyes and parted her lips, to let him taste her as much as he wanted. 

“And what,” Ross asked at length, “is my inducement for it?” 

“Inducement?” Demelza repeated questioningly. He sometimes used such long words, words she didn’t always understand, that at times she grew frustrated by it. But at least Ross never made her feel stupid for asking what he meant, and there would be an end, some time, to all these words that she had yet to encounter.

He jiggled his knee, so she bounced a little. “What do I get out of it?” he said. “It’s a hot uniform, and it’s late, and I’ve been working hard all day –,”

“If you’re too tired,” Demelza said teasingly, “then you needn’t –,”

“Minx,” Ross interrupted her, pinching her behind again. Demelza pursed her lips and refused to make a sound, even when he did it once more. “Will it please you, my dear?” he asked. Demelza nodded, and Ross kissed her again. “Very well,” he said. “Let me up, then.” He jiggled his knee and took his arm from around her waist, and Demelza stood up and danced out of his reach before he could change his mind and pull her close again. Ross chuckled at her, but she didn’t mind that, because he bent down and picked up the discarded hat, and then he rose and went to the wardrobe.

“It may not even fit me still,” he warned her. “And don’t for a moment think that you can persuade me into putting boots on.”

“I won’t, Ross,” Demelza said obediently. She went to perch on the end of the bed and watched as he pulled his shirt over his head. With his back to her, she could openly appreciate the view without fearing being caught looking. Not that he would mind; he’d made that clear enough. But even now, two months later, Demelza couldn’t quite shake the idea that this was not really hers, that she might wake up one day and find this had all been a dream, too precious and too wonderful to be real.

Off went his breeches, and then he pulled out the pile of clothes she had carefully placed in the wardrobe earlier. Demelza leaned against the bedpost and held her breath for a moment as he looked the pile over, as if he wasn’t sure about something. Then Ross glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, and shook his head slightly. 

“A fancy, indeed,” he muttered. But he put the pile of clothes on the dresser and then bent over to put on one white stocking, then the other. He tied them both with the white garters, then pulled on the white breeches. “Don’t imagine I’ll indulge all your whims like this,” Ross told her. He didn’t fasten the breeches; he reached for the shirt and put that on first, tucking the tails of it into the breeches and then pulling the braces over his shoulders.

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza agreed. “I know you won’t.” He looked at her again, sharply. The candlelight flickered across his face, shadows hiding his eyes from her in one moment and light glinting on them the next. Her breath caught in her throat. The atmosphere had changed, barely perceptible, but building with every piece of his uniform that he put on. Demelza felt it, and she was sure he did too. She felt it in a prickling of her skin, and in a kind of tingly ache of her nipples. She could feel her heart beating a little faster. Her mouth was a little dry. Ross stood for a while, watching her, and Demelza sat as still as she could. It had been an idea, a fancy, to see him dressed up in his army uniform. Not something she’d seriously thought he would agree to, though he was willing enough to grant her requests in other ways. This was different, though; this was _them_ , in their bedroom. The idea that might otherwise have been innocent was made seductive by the place, and by the warmth of the night, and by the candlelight painting the white clothes with golden hues.

Then Ross moved again. He put on the leather belt, and then the white waistcoat with gold buttons. It was a little worn in places, that waistcoat, just like the breeches, but the buttons shone as brightly as if they were new. Demelza had seen to that, this afternoon. She had carefully polished the buttons of the waistcoat and the coat, with a piece of old cloth tucked around the buttons so she didn’t dirty the clean uniform. Over the waistcoat went a scarlet sash, hiding the belt from sight.

Ross said nothing more as he dressed himself. It was as if they were both holding their breath, waiting for something. Waiting for the right moment. Demelza moistened her lips and felt the linen of her shirt brushing against her breasts as she breathed. He was breathing a little faster too, she saw. His hand fumbled, just a little, as he tried to fasten the black stock around his neck.

“By God, I hated this thing,” he said, as if to cover the way he had to make a second attempt at fastening the clasp at the back of his neck. “It’s worse than a normal stock. Higher.” He touched his chin to indicate what he meant, and Demelza nodded. She could see that it must be harder to move in it than his usual style of stock, for it came right to his chin. She didn’t like it, particularly; it hid too much of his neck, covering the rough stubble that went down his jaw and the first part of his throat. She liked to see that. And he liked it when she kissed him there, she had found; he made such lovely noises, when she kissed his throat and grazed her teeth across the pulse of his neck, when she suckled at that sensitive bit of skin and left a bruise. The stock hid all that from her. But it would not be on him for long.

Ross took up the coat then, the heavy red coat of a British soldier, and he pulled it on and made a pleased sound. “It fits,” he said. “I’m surprised. Soldiery is very different work to farming and mining.” He shrugged his shoulders to settle it, and tugged at the cuffs to make the sleeves sit well. Demelza pressed her thighs together and grasped the bed post tightly, willing him not to look back at her before she had found some control. Luck was not on her side; Ross turned to face her, arms spread, eyebrows raised. “Well?” he said. “Does this satisfy you?” 

Demelza swallowed, and licked her lips. “You look very handsome, Ross,” she said huskily. He was almost unfamiliar to her now, dressed in regimental white and red. Almost a stranger. If he had his boots on, and the army hat, he would be set quite apart from her. But he had neither; she could see his toes shifting in the stockings, and his wild hair was free from encumbrance. He was still Ross, beneath it all – no stranger, just her beloved Ross dressed in a smart, attractive uniform. He _was_ handsome in it. Very handsome. Her imagination had not done it justice. 

“Come and help me out of it,” Ross commanded. His voice was as hoarse as hers. There was a bulge in his breeches at his crotch; he was becoming hard. Demelza could feel dampness between her thighs, in the soft folds of her sex, and a throbbing in her nub. She ached for him, as much now as when he’d first shown her the wondrous things that could happen between a man and a woman in bed. “Come here,” Ross said again, an order that she could not, would not, disobey. Demelza rose, padded across the floor to him, and smoothed her hand across one of the wide lapels of his coat. Ross bent his head and kissed her, hands almost spanning her waist, holding her securely where he wanted her. Demelza shivered, and closed her eyes, and let Ross bring her even closer to him, so she was almost stepping on his feet. She could feel the evidence of his arousal, pressing against her hip – and she could feel it in the way he kissed her, hungry and focused, as if he wanted to devour her or to possess her. Demelza wouldn’t mind if he did. 

She was breathless when he let her go at last. “Help me undress,” he rasped. It sounded more like a plea, this time, than an order, but Demelza nodded anyway. She touched her swollen lips briefly, and then she reached up and pushed his coat back, off his shoulders. Ross made no move to assist, so Demelza stepped around him and pulled one sleeve down, and then the other. He was like a statue – a living, breathing statue. He turned his head to keep her in sight, but otherwise the only movements he made were the rise and fall of his chest. 

She folded the coat and put it on the dresser. She took longer over it than strictly necessary, being more careful than she needed, and Ross shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his breath hitching as if he was about to say something. Demelza turned back to him, and he subsided. She stood in front of him again, and put her arms around his neck to reach the clasp of his stock, as if she was embracing him. This close, right in front of him, there was nowhere to look but his face – his dark eyes, his parted lips, the line of the scar down his cheek. She could see his impatience, but she was delighted with this new game, and she was determined to take her time, for as long as he would allow it.

She unfastened the clasp and set the black stock on top of the folded red coat. Then, made bold by the atmosphere and by his agreement to her wish that he should don the uniform, Demelza pressed close to him and kissed his throat. Ross made a sound, deep in his chest, and Demelza smiled to herself. She found his pulse and kissed him there, lips against stubble and warm skin. He put a hand at her waist, tilted his head back a little, and Demelza took advantage of it and kissed a line of wet kisses up his throat to his jaw. 

“I don’t like that stock, either,” she murmured. “Too high. I like…I like seeing this every day.” Ross inhaled to speak, but Demelza found his pulse again and bit him there, barely more than a graze of teeth but enough to make him moan. There was such heady power in pulling these noises from him, Demelza had found. She, Demelza, was the one who stole away his words and made him quiver and made him – 

Ross grasped hold of her chin and tilted her face up, his mouth descending on hers, hard and fierce, tongue dancing with tongue. Unrelenting, until Demelza was breathless again, gasping from lack of air and from desire. Only then did he release her.

“Do you intend to undress me at some point tonight?” he demanded roughly. Demelza pressed her thighs together, a fresh wave of arousal washing over her. She wanted him to touch her, wanted his hand or his mouth or his cock – she _wanted_ , so very much – but at the same time, she wanted to keep taking his uniform off slowly. She wanted to prolong the pleasure, this heady atmosphere of candlelight and lust, until neither of them could bear it any longer.

“Are you in a hurry, Ross?” she asked. “Don’t you like this?” She found the knot of his sash and began to tease it apart.

“I’m not – that isn’t what I –,”

“It’s like unwrapping a present,” Demelza murmured. She felt a little shy, voicing it like that, but she knew Ross liked it when she said what she did and didn’t like, between them in their bedroom. “Let me?”

Ross let his breath out in a long exhale, and then he nodded. His hands fell away from her to dangle idly at his sides. He would let her be slow, let her explore him, peeling back the layers one by one to find little glimpses of skin beneath. She waited for a few seconds, to be sure he was ready to be patient, and then she turned her attention fully onto the knotted sash. Slowly she teased at the knot, loosening it little by little. Then it was undone, and she held an end of it in each hand, so he was caught between her arms and the loop of cloth. His mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but his eyes were anything but amused. Dark, hooded, they were fixed on her expectantly. 

Demelza pulled the sash from around his waist and folded it as neatly as she had folded the coat. She put it with the stock, and then took her place once more in front of him. The waistcoat was next, with the shining gold buttons. She unfastened one at a time, aware all the while of his intense gaze and the way his chest rose and fell, a little quicker than normal. Aware, too, of the way her own nightshirt brushed across her skin as she moved, the slightest of friction against her peaked nipples. When she stepped to Ross’s side, to draw the waistcoat off his shoulder, his hand brushed – deliberately, she was sure – against her mound. The nightshirt barely reached her thighs, and she knew that with a slight movement he could lift the hem of it and slide his fingers through the thatch of hair and into her wet sex. The thought made her breath hitch, but Ross didn’t do that. He was playing her game, tonight, and she knew he would try to let her undress him before he touched her properly.

He might, of course, become too impatient. So might she, for that matter. But for now, he would restrict himself to small touches that could be passed off as accidental.

She slid her hand across his shoulder as she went behind him to his other side, and then the waistcoat was off, and it joined the other pieces of the uniform on the dresser. Belt next; Demelza undid that from behind him, pressing up against his back, arms wrapped around his waist. She didn’t need to look to undo a belt buckle, and this way she was able to embrace him, and to feel the way his chest rose and fell. She closed her eyes for a moment, resting her cheek against his back. His shirt smelled faintly of camphor, but beneath that was the salt-sweat that was Ross.

“Demelza,” Ross murmured. A gentle hint that he had limits. Demelza kissed his clothed shoulder blade and pulled the belt from its loops. She coiled it and set it on the dresser, and then she tucked her fingers beneath his braces and slid them, slowly, off his shoulders. 

“So many layers,” she said. “You must’ve been so hot, in the summer. That heavy coat.”

“Mm. Yes. And America was hotter than Cornwall.” He smiled, faintly. “A different kind of heat, at any rate.” His fingers flexed, as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but then he stilled himself. Demelza almost felt as though she was rewarding him when she kissed his throat again, but it was an irresistible temptation for her. He tilted his head to one side, eyes sliding shut, and made a breathy, groaning sound. Demelza flicked her tongue against the hollow of his throat, and then, unfastening the top button of his shirt, she licked her way down his neck to the exposed bit of his chest. Another button; another inch or so of exposed skin. The buttons ended at his breast bone, and she paused to press a butterfly-light kiss there. His chest hair tickled at her nose, until she nuzzled against him more deliberately. But his shirt, though gaping at the neck now, still concealed too much of him. 

Demelza glanced up at him briefly. Ross was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his eyes lidded. She had seen him like this before; this was Ross struggling for control, submersed in lust. It would be the work of moments to push aside his breeches, to lift her shirt and let him bring them together. But while that would be as wonderful as their joining always was, Demelza refused to give in to it. This heady atmosphere, this slow unravelling, was too pleasing to give up until they were both too lost to continue.

Her heart felt swollen with love for this man, this wonderful man who had taken her out of poverty and drudgery and made her his wife. It rose up in her chest and choked her, stronger than the pulsing desire that made her ache for him, made her feel so _empty_ without him moving within her.

“Demelza?” Ross lifted his hands to cup her face; his intensity was no less, but there was an edge of concern in his expression and in his voice. “Is it too much, my dear?” he asked, thumb stroking across her cheekbone.

“No,” Demelza said at once. “No, it’s perfect, Ross.” She turned her head into his hand and kissed his palm. “Let me?” She was not overwhelmed by desire, which was what Ross meant – or not only by desire, at least. Her deeper emotions were so wholly engaged by him that she could not separate her love for him from her desire for him. But she wanted to finish this. She _wanted_ , so very much, but she was determined to continue on her chosen path.

Ross nodded, and let his hands fall idle again. His concern had not made his arousal fade; when she pressed against him, she could feel his cock, hot and hard beneath his breeches. Demelza put her arms around his waist and slid her hands beneath the waistband of the breeches, to find the hem of his shirt. Ross hissed through his teeth as she delved lower than was necessary, a hand on each cheek of his behind, and his hips thrust against her, a small movement that she only felt because she was so close to him. Demelza wanted to arch into him, to move her own hips such that his cock could press between her legs, but she restrained herself. Instead she pulled the shirt out of the breeches, and lifted the hem of it up as high as she could.

“Arms,” she said breathlessly. Ross raised his arms and bent his head so Demelza could pull the shirt up and off him. There was a trickle of sweat running down his chest; she swayed forwards to lick it away. Ross groaned a curse, so Demelza did it again, licking a stripe across his nipple then swirling her tongue around it, until Ross’s hands grasped her hips, his fingers digging in uncomfortably.

“Demelza,” he said, a low, warning growl. “ _Please_.”

Demelza shuddered. He had rarely said that word to her, here in their bedroom. He had drawn it from her more than once, brought her to the point of begging for release, but so often he had been in control. He had been the teacher, as he was in so many other ways. Demelza loved those rare moments when his control slipped, when he said ‘please’ or spoke her name in a certain way, when his eyes were black with lust and he was lost to the fire between them. 

Her nub was _throbbing_ , her whole sex felt wet when she clenched her thighs together. Her breasts were heavy and the cotton shirt was almost painful against her nipples. Ross pulled her even closer to him, lifting her up so she was on tiptoe, so his cock was pressed against her mound and – 

“Let me finish,” she gasped. “Let me finish, Ross –,”

“Oh, you’ll finish,” Ross rasped. His grip on her was too tight to escape from – not that she wanted to escape, not when he spoke like that, when he _looked_ like that. He thrust his cock against her, a little lower, right at the apex of her thighs. There was too much cloth still between them for satisfaction – his breeches were still on, though barely, and she had her shirt – but he used his grip on her hips to grind her against his cock. Demelza moaned and clutched at his shoulders, her legs feeling too weak to support her when he did that. 

“Ross,” she said weakly. “Ross, I want – let me –,”

“Not fast enough,” he said. Before she could move, before she could think to protest, Ross lifted her up, plucking her off her feet to carry her over to the bed. He dropped her there, not carelessly, but energetically enough that Demelza bounced a little on the mattress. His breeches had fallen off his hips in his movements, and now he kicked them off. He was bare, but for his stockings, and Demelza could do nothing but stare. His cock was so hard, flushed and leaking a little fluid from its tip. His chest was heaving, his eyes were so utterly dark, and she couldn’t look away from him. 

He lifted one foot onto the bed and struggled with the garter that held up his stocking. Demelza sat up and reached for it, her fingers more nimble than his, and in a moment the garter was loose, it and the stocking discarded on the floor. Ross switched feet, and Demelza unfastened that garter too. He was naked now, gloriously naked, but he didn’t give her any time for continued appreciation. He crawled into the bed, nudging her legs apart, pushing her nightshirt up.

“Off,” he demanded. Demelza tried to obey, to lift the shirt up and over her head, but Ross didn’t give her much of a chance. His mouth found her inner thigh, his tongue wound a path up into the slick folds of her sex, and Demelza was helpless to do anything but arch up into him. “So wet,” Ross muttered, the movement of his lips a fluttering sensation against her nub. Demelza wanted to speak, but she didn’t have the breath. She tried to shove her shirt up, managed to withdraw her arms from the sleeves, and then Ross rose over her, helping her to pull the shirt off entirely. “Ready?” he asked. His cock was at her entrance, the head of it slipping against her. Demelza nodded, but she reached out for him first, demanding a kiss. She clutched his shoulders, digging her nails in until he bent and caught her mouth with his.

Then he sank into her, one thrust of his hips, bringing him right into her core in one smooth movement. Demelza cried out, not in pain but with surprise and exquisite pleasure. She was full of him, not merely her body but all her senses; she heard his panting groans, smelled the salty sweat of him, drowned in his eyes that held her gaze without faltering. He filled her, surrounded her, and she loved it. She loved him, her Ross, her husband, the fixed point around which all else revolved. 

“Too damn slow,” Ross muttered, “teasing and –,” He broke off with a moan as Demelza bent a knee, hooking her foot behind his back, and deliberately tightened her inner muscles around his cock.

“You liked it,” she gasped. “You liked – _oh_!” Ross rolled his hips, pulling out partway and then sinking back down, robbing Demelza of her breath. She flung a hand out, grasped a handful of the bed linens and arched up to meet his next thrust. “Ross,” she managed to say. “Ross – more –,”

“’Course – ‘course I liked it,” he said. He bent his head again and kissed her, swallowing her cries as he rocked into her again, shallow thrusts that did nothing to sate her, only to build the fire higher, wind the coil tighter. She tangled a hand in his hair and dug her heel into his back. The heady atmosphere, his appearance in the uniform, the way he had let her undress him slowly until breaking point – it all made her feel wild and desperate, and Ross was taking his revenge now, too _slow_ to tip her over the edge. “The way you looked at me,” he mumbled, mouthing at her jaw, her neck. A hand found her breast, fingers tweaked at her nipple. Demelza felt it running right through her body, a wire connecting the nipple to her nub. She flung her head back and bent her other knee, trapping him within a circle of her legs, trying to make him change angle, to encourage him towards their mutual end.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Ross, please –,”

Ross obeyed her; he quickened his pace, deep and fast, and put his mouth to her breast to suck on her nipple. Then he made some motion with his hips, his cock brushed against some place inside her, and at the same time he sucked hard at her nipple. It was enough; it was too much. Demelza arched up off the bed with a soundless cry, mouth wide open to gasp for air. She was swept away by her climax, lost to the sensations of her body. She felt Ross reaching his own peak, warm seed flooding her. She heard him sigh her name. But these were distant things, separated from her by a haze. 

The haze drifted away at length, and Demelza found herself lying boneless on the bed, a single sheet pulled over her. She turned her head and found Ross stretched out on the bed beside her, watching her with one of his blank, inscrutable expressions. But then he smiled, and warmth came back into his eyes, and she knew that he was pleased.

“A fancy,” he said, and she didn’t think she was imagining the fondness in his voice. “Feel free to have many more fancies, my dear.”

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza agreed, happy and lazy and sated. 

“But perhaps we’ll save the uniform for when summer is over,” Ross said, his smile turning into a smirk. Demelza huffed a laugh and rolled over, onto her side, so she could tuck herself against him. It was hot, and they had both sweated, but she didn’t care. She loved this closeness – a quiet, companionable closeness, both of them relaxed and content. Ross put his arm around her and made no objection when she rested her head on his chest. She yawned, closed her eyes, and listened to his heartbeat.

“A fancy,” Ross murmured, just as she was drifting away into sleep. “Indeed. I’ll have to be careful of your fancies, Demelza.”

Demelza managed a hum in response, and then she was asleep.


End file.
